This is really great and everyone should go read it.
Read it. Liked the poem.
Nothing much to say but thanks.
Yes, thanks. It rings true. I can easily identify with the crazy-making need to think about movement and consciously monitor it.
Sad. My paternal grandfather died with, if not of, Parkinson's, and during most Christmas dinners in adulthood I've caught myself watching the Flip-Pater's and my uncle's hands closely for tremors.
That's a beautiful poem by your dad, tierce -- I felt incredibly weighted down by the time I got to the end. I don't want to get up now.
And the article is great, too. My grandfather died with Parkinson's, and I confess I never gave it that much thought. Because I am callow and horrible. Matching it to BK's music and your father's writing made me think more about it then I ever did about my Poppi.
Tierce, that's so beautiful. Thank you. My grandfather, a surgeon, lived maybe 20 years after diagnosis. I'm the oldest of the grandchildren and it tears me apart that my cousins didn't get to know him before frailty had taken its toll. I remember the year I was 17, I guess, and on psychiatric drugs that had given me Tardive dyskinesia and left me as shaky as he suddenly seemed to be. It looked as radically wrong for my body as for his, but mine got better and his never did. Especially then, that outcome felt unfair and wrong.
Beautiful, tierce. Makes me think of my dad too. Many thanks.
Yes, but I want you all to acknowledge the stylish awesomeness of the tierce-pater. FLIP, GET BACK HERE.
I really like the poem, and your writing is thoughtful and moving, tierce.
And, so oudemia won't yell at me, I'll acknowledge that your father had style.
That is a really moving piece. For obvious reasons, I'm reminded of this article from The Atlantic.
FLIP, GET BACK HERE.
What? What did I do? Am I in trouble again? Aw, man.
Further to the issue of the hottness of tierce-pater: this, from c.1957. I love this photo.
His style wasn't something I gave a thought to as a kid: first time this was brought home to me was at his retirement dinner in c.1983, and a speech given by the fellow next to him in that picture, I/an M/ercer, that made a specific and very funny point of how strikingly dad always dressed -- in the anecdote wearing a purple shirt and tie, and black suede shoes, in rural Shropshire in the mid-50s. For field work.
Anthropologists usually dress distinctively. A very well told, moving story.
Delurking/
That was a very beautifully written and moving post, tierce.
/Relurking.
Aw shucks, chris, but you know me from B&T, I'm really not shy at all. Just that being only vaguely aware of all Unfogged traditions I don't want to be made to bring pastries. (I have commented once or twice before, way back when, back in the old times - in the Ogged times.)
(Also now somewhat paranoid about my earlier email address being picked up by a spam bot. Could someone responsible please substitute this one if it's not too much trouble, thanks.)
Very nice remembrance, tierce.
And thanks for the link in 12, apo (although I effed up and read some of the comments). The article was timely as I have been boring real-life and internet friends with some tales of the rather messed-up end-of-life situation (now seemingly in its very last stages) we are going through with my wife's father. And by "we" I mean my wife*. Anyway, the article helps give some perspective on the relative tractability of the intractable parts of his situation (or at least their relatively short-livededness). Aside from his anxiety and confusion, there are two parts of the thing that are hard to get beyond.
1) That a lot of my wife's last memories of him over the past year will be things like getting yelled at in public places at 100 decibels for something he perceived as an oversight or stupidity on her part. (Although in his case imperiousness is not exactly a new-found characteristic--but I hope she can eventually find her way back to some of the "good parts" memories.)
2) As alluded to in the article, what with demographics and the probability of medical science continuing to find ways to extend and compensate but not really "fix", this is all going to become a larger and more visible "problem" over the next 30 years. In particular, I have little confidence in the political, healthcare and societal aspects of the US of A to deal with it in any kind of reasonable or equitable manner.
*I'm billed as Aspirationally Supportive Spouse #1.
22.2: I'd like to think personally I will be able to walk a different path to death in the fullness of time. But who knows what that would even look like? So unless something gets me first, I'll probably be sitting there on my rose-upholstered chair in a nursing home when the events of the Great Elderly Purge of 2043* overtake me.
*And I proactively absolve everyone; God knows we'll have it coming.
14: Your father really was awesomely dapper, tierce.
And the piece you wrote was very moving. I can't think of Parkinsons without feeling guilty about a physics teacher my class was horrible to -- it was the last year he was able to teach, and we were rotten little teenage shits who took advantage because he couldn't shout at us.
23: rose-upholstered chair
Christ, 'rose' s/b 'silk' I belatedly realize. It's not even close enough to be a mondegreen rather than just a thinko that doesn't make much sense.
Echoing what everyone else said. Thanks for sending that in, tierce.